I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC203: Saving Astynome (4)
Nathan merely nodded, unaffected by her wonder, though he noted the glint of newfound resolve in her eyes. Wrapping a cloth around her head to shield her face from prying eyes, he lifted her effortlessly onto his shoulder. With practiced silence, he moved through the tent's exit, his movements swift and precise as they slipped away into the night.
Astynome clung to him, her thoughts racing as she was carried out of the Greek encampment. With each step, her heart pounded, not just in fear but with a budding sense of freedom and possibility she had never imagined.
As Nathan emerged from Agamemnon's tent, he wasted no time, striding briskly through the heart of the camp, his pace quick and deliberate. He knew Agamemnon could return at any moment—perhaps in a minute or two—and so he had to act quickly and decisively. The bustling camp was alive with the sounds of celebrating Greek soldiers, some singing loudly, others drinking heavily, their voices slurring in victorious revelry. Here, surrounded by warriors basking in the spoils of conquest, Nathan felt invisible, shielded by the anonymity of his disguise. To them, he was just another Spartan soldier, one of many dragging along the fruits of their brutal victory.
A few soldiers gave him passing glances, but no one looked at him with suspicion. They saw only another man leading his spoils—another trophy of flesh and blood to be taken and used. Such sights were tragically commonplace here; many women, stolen from their homes, were treated as little more than the spoils of Lyrnessus's fall. The fabric clothing hiding Astynome's face might have sparked a flicker of curiosity, but it was quickly dulled by the soldiers' drunken haze, their minds far from anything that could be called reasoning.
Astynome on his shoulder shivered slightly, her eyes distant. Nathan heard her murmur a trembling whisper, "My father…"
The faintest hope flickered in her gaze, a fragile spark clinging to life amidst the crushing weight of despair. She had heard her father's cry, that final agonizing scream, but perhaps some part of her still clung to the thought that it could have been a nightmare, a cruel trick of the mind.
"Dead," Nathan replied, his voice a quiet and bitter edge in the night air.
He had watched Chryses in his last moments, had witnessed the priest's anguished face as he'd reached out, calling in desperate hope for his daughter. Nathan had felt a pang of unexpected empathy as he'd watched him. The man had come this far, through peril and pain, for the love of his child—a sacrifice few would make without hesitation. That profound love lingered like a shadow in Nathan's thoughts, resurfacing the memory of his own daughter, Sara, whom he had only learned about this very day, courtesy of Aisha.
Sara.
The name resonated within him, an echo of what could have been, a reflection of what he might have lost without ever knowing it. A heavy chill settled in his bones as he thought of her, a fierce surge of protectiveness that gnawed at his soul. If it had been Sara taken from him, held captive among these warriors, he would have torn through this camp without hesitation. Every soldier here would have felt the wrath of his vengeance; he would have unleashed devastation without mercy, burning, slashing, and striking down every last one until there was no breath left in his body.
His eyes darkened, as he thought of it. He understood now, on a raw, visceral level, what had driven Chryses to risk everything, to come so far and face death with a father's unwavering love. In that instant, Nathan felt a kinship with the fallen man, a recognition of the love that binds parent to child—a bond that could make even the most ordinary soul brave death itself.
Perhaps that was why, despite everything, Nathan found himself unable to brush aside the memory of Chryses.
At last maybe he had another reason however small it was to save Astynome at least in respect to this father who was very different from Nathan's own father.
"He would have probably abandoned and waited for me to get out of the situation with my own hands," Nathan thought inwardly.
Astynome fell silent, absorbing the weight of Nathan's confirmation. Her father was dead. The man who had raised her, who had loved her beyond measure, was gone. In the hollow silence that settled between them, Nathan turned his attention to the task at hand. With measured steps, he made his way toward the area where a group of horses were lazily tethered, guarded only by a few weary soldiers who were distracted, reveling in their victory. This was the ideal moment; they were drunk, complacent, and their minds wandered far from any hint of caution.
He picked a sturdy horse with a coat as dark as midnight, its eyes calm but alert, seemingly aware of the urgency in Nathan's touch. He carefully helped Astynome up into the saddle, ensuring she was secure. "Wait here. I'll be back," he instructed, his voice low and steady.
"Wait…" Astynome's fingers wrapped around his arm, her grip unexpectedly firm. He turned, caught off guard by the desperation in her gaze.
"You… you will be back, won't you? You're not going to abandon me here?" she asked, her voice a fragile thread, trembling yet serious. Beneath her question was a fear as raw and open as a fresh wound—a fear of being abandoned once more, left to fend for herself in a world that seemed determined to strip her of everything.
Nathan's expression hardened a flicker of understanding crossing his features. Perhaps it was the loss of her father, the devastation of being torn from her home, or the abandonment by those she had once trusted, even by the god who had once watched over her. Now, in a strange twist of fate, she clung to him, the man who had taken her from everything she had known, yet who represented her last anchor in an unpredictable, terrifying future.
"I will be back," he said. "Wait here."
With a final nod, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Astynome behind. The weight of her gaze lingered on his back as he slipped away.
Nathan's mind shifted to his plan, his focus narrowing on the task ahead. It was a reckless notion—intruding into the heart of the Greek camp—but necessary. Even if he managed to save Astynome, questions would arise, suspicions would stir. The Trojans might wonder why a lone soldier would risk himself for a captive woman, and he knew he couldn't afford unnecessary attention. To divert their suspicions, he intended to leave them with something much more pressing to worry about—a small disaster of his own making.
He had overheard loose-lipped soldiers bragging drunkenly about a certain vessel moored just offshore, one laden with weapons—thousands of spears, swords, and shields, all awaiting the next march of war. The boat was a prized asset, its deck brimming with the tools of death and destruction that kept the Greeks' campaign alive.
Nathan moved swiftly, locating a pouch which he filled with oil, its thick, viscous weight promising devastation. He then picked up a lance, its shaft weathered and heavy in his hand. Dipping the tip in oil and setting it ablaze, he positioned himself at a calculated distance from the boat. It sat anchored, rocking gently with the tide, silhouetted against the shimmering water.
Squinting against the darkness, he focused, steadying his breath, channeling every ounce of his strength into his throw. With a powerful swing, he hurled the lance, watching it slice through the night sky in a perfect arc before plunging into the deck of the ship.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a hiss and crackle, flames began to lick at the wood, greedily spreading across the deck. The fire took hold, growing quickly as it devoured the oil-soaked planks, leaping higher with each passing second until the entire vessel was ablaze, a beacon of destruction against the quiet sea.
Despite the chaos unfolding, even if Agamemnon returned to discover Astynome missing, rage boiling as he barked commands and ordered his men to search, there would be something far graver demanding his attention. A low rumble of alarm swept through the camp as a plume of dark smoke billowed high against the night sky, and the acrid scent of burning wood wafted over the tents and sleeping soldiers.
"Hey, look!" one soldier shouted, wide-eyed and pointing toward the shore.
"No way! One of our boats!" another cried, his voice rising with panic.
"It's on fire! Come on, men!" yelled yet another, and soon a group of Greeks, their drunkenness forgotten, stumbled and ran toward the docks, eyes fixed on the smoldering ship. The flames had spread rapidly, casting a fiery glow across the waters and illuminating the stunned faces of the soldiers as they stood, helpless, watching one of their most vital cargo vessels—the one laden with weapons—crackling and splitting as the fire consumed it.
Nathan watched from the shadows, his smirk barely visible in the dim light. The scent of burning oil and wood, the shouts of panicked soldiers—this was his distraction, his calculated chaos. In the commotion, he slipped through the camp's edge, disappearing from sight and making his way to where Astynome waited, her gaze transfixed by the inferno lighting the distant shore. The orange glow reflected in her eyes, flickering with a mix of shock and awe. She knew, without a doubt, that Nathan was responsible for the flames dancing across the night, destroying what the Greeks had prized.
A question flickered across her mind, unspoken but heavy with wonder: How was he capable of such audacity? How could he kidnap her from Agamemnon's clutches and set one of their most valuable boats ablaze—all without a trace of fear? If she knew that Nathan had purposefully chosen one of Agamemnon's own ships, she would be even more astonished, realizing the exact depth of his cunning. Agamemnon's day, one that had begun in triumph, had indeed twisted into a nightmare.
"Let's go." Nathan's voice snapped her from her thoughts as he swung onto the horse in front of her, offering her a steadying hand. Astynome climbed up behind him, her fingers gripping his sides as he tapped the horse's flanks, and they surged forward, breaking into a swift gallop away from the camp, leaving only the glowing fire and distant shouts behind them.
They rode into the night, the cool wind whipping around them as the Greek camp dwindled into the darkness behind. With each hoofbeat, they drew closer to Troy, where Nathan's true battle awaited. The struggle for Troy, the heart of a war that had ensnared them all, loomed ahead. For Nathan, this was just the beginning; Troy was where the final, true clash would take place, where fate would demand everything from him.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC204: Hera's delight and anger
Zeus sat upon his throne, his gaze stern and unwavering, peering through the divine veil that allowed him to glimpse the mortal realm. He watched the ravaged state of Lyrnessus, smoldering and broken under the merciless hands of the Greeks, their victory casting a shadow over all they had conquered. Once, in his youth, such scenes of destruction and bloodshed would have ignited a thrill in his godly veins, stirring the wild joy of battle within him. But time had aged him, deepening his wisdom, and his heart now longed not for chaos, but for peace—a peace he had fostered carefully across the vast world he controlled. Yet that fragile calm had shattered, all because of a single woman.
Helen of Sparta—or Helen of Troy, as she was now called.
Zeus felt no anger toward her. Despite the unraveling of the world around her, she remained above reproach in his eyes. She was, after all, his daughter, born from his union with the Aeolian princess, Leda. The soft glow of fatherly affection clouded his judgment, rendering it impossible to hold Helen responsible for the war's catastrophic course. She had not willingly chosen to abandon Menelaus and the life she had known. Zeus understood, or thought he understood, her heart. If she had truly desired to be with Paris, he would never force her to return.
Of course, his perception was a misunderstanding. Aphrodite's influence had brought Helen to Troy, her love-giving girdle casting an irresistible allure over Paris. Yet, Helen's divine lineage—Zeus's blood—had partially shielded her from the full power of Aphrodite's spell. Its effects had worked just enough to draw her to Troy, binding her with unnatural loyalty, only for her to awaken from its haze and realize the course of fate had already set its path, one she could no longer escape.
The same went for Zeus. The gods of Olympus were split, each compelled by their own loyalties, ambitions, and rivalries, and now stood divided, most having chosen their sides in the mortal conflict. His queen, Hera, and his beloved daughter, Athena, stood resolute in their support of the Greeks, their motivations entangled with vengeance, pride, and a fierce desire for justice. On the other hand, Apollo and Artemis, his twin children whom he cherished just as deeply, had pledged themselves to the Trojans, their sympathies stirring from bonds forged over centuries with those who had devotedly worshipped them.
Both sides clamored for Zeus's endorsement, each knowing that his support would grant them certain victory. Yet he remained immovable in his neutrality. The mortals on both sides revered him, and he would not betray that faith, nor would he abandon his daughter, Helen, to whatever retribution the Greeks might devise should she fall into their hands. He had seen Menelaus's simmering rage and knew it well; the man's desire to reclaim his honor could push him to unfathomable cruelty.
"Hermes, are you worried about Helen, father?" Hermes asked, his tone light yet perceptive, a knowing smile playing at his lips. He had always been skilled at reading Zeus's moods; centuries spent at his side had made him attuned to his father's most subtle expressions.
Zeus, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed somewhere distant, burdened by thoughts he did not share. The silence stretched between them, but Hermes waited, undeterred.
"Don't worry, Father," Hermes finally continued with a reassuring smile. "Nothing will happen to our beautiful half-sister under my watch. If Helen's truly in danger, I'll make sure she's safe."
Zeus let out a slow breath, shaking his head, his expression turning somber. "If it is her destiny to perish in Troy, or to return to Menelaus's side, a god's interference will do little to change it." His voice was resolute, carrying the weight of divine knowledge.
For all his power, Zeus harbored a deep, unspoken respect for the Moirai—the Fates, whose threads wove every life's course. Even he, the mighty King of Olympus, could not entirely escape the web they spun. Though he feared little in the cosmos, the unseen hands of fate gave him pause, for perhaps they had even woven his own end into their endless loom.
Hermes considered his father's words carefully. While he respected the Moirai, he doubted saving Helen would truly bring their wrath upon them. Gods could bend many rules to protect their own, after all. But he could sense his father's worry—this was no ordinary mortal affair. There were laws, ancient and immutable, and in the wrong moment, a misstep could lead even a god to ruin.
Of course, if Zeus witnessed Helen on the brink of death, he might disregard those laws without hesitation. But for now, he was cautious, leaning away from intervention. Ending the war entirely would be the ideal solution, Zeus knew. Yet stopping a war set aflame by pride, vengeance, and prophecy was no simple task.
A burst of laughter broke his contemplation as Hera, Zeus's strikingly beautiful wife, entered the hall with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Did you see Artemis's face? Utterly frustrated!" she chuckled, a wicked smile brightening her countenance.
Behind her, Athena, the fierce goddess of wisdom and war, strode in confidently, her bronze-tipped spear still gripped in hand. She smirked, the corner of her mouth lifted in delight. "My focus was on Apollo. Our dear half-brother didn't carry his usual smugness this time," she commented dryly, referring to their recent encounter and the scenes of ruin they had observed in Lyrnessus.
Zeus sighed inwardly, catching the glint of amusement in their eyes as they shared tales of the chaos below. "Clearly," he thought with mild exasperation, "they won't be the ones to stop this war…"
Just then, a warm chuckle resonated from the large table that filled the center of the hall. Dionysus, the god of wine, reclined in his seat with an air of relaxed cheer, his goblet full of sweet, red wine. He grinned at Hera, raising his glass in a toast. "You seem in fine spirits, Queen Hera," he remarked, his laughter lilting as he took a deep, satisfied sip.
Hera's laughter faded instantly when her gaze landed on Dionysus, her expression darkening into a scowl. Her disdain for Zeus's children born of his unfaithfulness was a heavy, seething undercurrent in her heart, and it showed. Only a few, like Athena and Hermes, had escaped her wrath. Athena was the daughter of Zeus's first wife, even before Hera's time, and Hermes, well—he was amusing and useful enough to tolerate. Despite the occasional rivalries with Athena, they currently shared a strong bond, united in their support of Agamemnon's campaign against the Trojans.
But Apollo and Artemis? They were different. Born of Zeus and the detested Leto, they embodied everything Hera loathed. Her hatred toward Leto had only intensified upon learning that Zeus had gifted her with these twins. Now, that loathing extended tenfold to Apollo and Artemis themselves. And Dionysus? The disdain simmered deeper, for he, too, was the child of yet another human princess, yet another reminder of Zeus's infidelities. Although Dionysus had reached Olympus by his own accomplishments and daring feats, his very presence was an affront to Hera's pride.
Hera narrowed her eyes at Dionysus, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What? Are you offended, Dionysus? Don't tell me you've chosen to side with those weaklings—Apollo, Artemis, and Aphrodite?" She scoffed, a touch of venom coloring her words.
Dionysus only chuckled, undeterred by her malice, and took a long sip from his goblet. "No, Queen Hera. I am merely an observer for now," he replied with a subtle, knowing smile that only seemed to irritate her further.
Hera's distaste deepened, her gaze shifting away from the god of wine and onto Ares, her own son. She crossed her arms expectantly. "And you, Ares? Surely you stand with your mother."
But Ares merely shrugged, uninterested in aligning with either side just yet. "I'll choose a side when the war becomes more... interesting."
Hera glared at him, frustrated and disapproving. She was certain Ares's hesitance stemmed from Aphrodite's loyalties. Aphrodite, whom he adored, was firmly on the side of the Trojans, and Hera knew that Ares's enmity with Athena would sooner or later push him into her camp. She could hardly imagine her son choosing Athena over Aphrodite.
Her sharp gaze swept the room, noting who was missing. Demeter, unsurprisingly, was absent, likely tending to her beloved crops with her daughter Persephone. And Poseidon… the mere thought of him drew a flicker of annoyance across her face.
"Don't tell me your brother is still scouring the worlds looking for that woman, dear husband?" Hera asked Zeus, her words laced with irritation.
Zeus released a sigh, his fingers tightening slightly around the arm of his throne.
Hermes, standing nearby, chuckled, amused by the thought of his uncle's relentless pursuit. "You should see his face, Queen Hera. Poseidon has become a storm unto himself, traveling across realms just to find her. Quite fearsome, wouldn't you agree, brother?" Hermes grinned at Dionysus, who raised his glass in a silent toast.
Dionysus smirked. "Indeed. I fear for poor Khione when he finally catches up to her."
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC205: Helen's dream
"I heard you're going to be engaged to Agamemnon, sister," Helen murmured softly, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of Clytemnestra's face.
Clytemnestra turned to look at Helen, her gaze sharp yet composed. Though they were sisters, the bond between them had always been shadowed by the strange circumstances of their birth. It was said that after Zeus seduced their mother, two sets of twins were born: one pair carrying the mortal blood of Tyndareus, their supposed father, and the other bearing the divine blood of Zeus himself.
The mortal twins were Clytemnestra and her brother, Castor, while Helen and Pollux carried the mark of the gods. Both sets of siblings were blessed with striking beauty, but Helen and Pollux possessed something beyond mere charm—a quality that set them apart, a divine allure that was undeniable. Helen, in particular, was said to be the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth, a beauty so intense it could unsettle the strongest of men. Pollux had inherited strength and abilities from Zeus, gifts that set him apart even among mortals.
Despite the close bond between Castor and Pollux, who treated each other as true brothers, Helen's relationship with Clytemnestra was fraught with tension. Clytemnestra had grown up in Helen's shadow, forced into constant comparison. Over time, she distanced herself from Helen, not out of hatred, but as a way to preserve her own sense of self. She couldn't bring herself to despise her younger sister, but neither could she fully embrace her.
And now, she was to leave. The family had arranged her marriage to Agamemnon, a powerful king, one known for his strength and command. Today would mark her final day here as a daughter of Tyndareus. Soon, she would be a queen.
"Yes, it's true," Clytemnestra replied with a hint of finality.
Helen's eyes softened, almost curious. "Are you happy about it, sister?"
Clytemnestra raised an eyebrow, as though the question itself were absurd. "Happy? Marrying the most powerful king in all the lands? Of course I am. It's every woman's dream to marry a man of such strength." Her tone was cool, almost defensive.
"But you've never even met him," Helen continued, a note of quiet defiance in her voice. "You don't know him, don't love him. Is his strength really all that matters? Is that enough for love?"
Clytemnestra laughed, though there was little humor in it. She regarded Helen with a look that mixed frustration and pity. "Helen, your innocence is charming, but naïve. One day, you'll understand that love has little to do with it. Someday, you'll be married off, too, to a man who may not please you in the slightest. In fact, I doubt any man will be to your liking. Every man who looks at you sees only your beauty, the allure you carry as Zeus's daughter. They see you as a prize, a conquest. They'd risk kingdoms for the chance to possess you."
She sighed, glancing away as if to distance herself from her own words. "They look at you like you're a rare jewel, Helen, something to be won. And when that day comes, you'll see that love is the least of your concerns."
Helen listened in silence, her heart caught between admiration for her sister's resilience and a quiet sadness for the path laid out before them both. She wondered if Clytemnestra's words were prophetic, if her future, too, would be determined by forces outside of her control, by desires that were not her own. Experience new worlds on M-VL-emp,yr
"You will certainly never find a man who can see past your beauty, Helen. All men will look only at your beauty, nothing more. The sooner you accept this, the better your life will be," Clytemnestra's words cut through the evening stillness like a blade. They were sharp, perhaps too sharp, but beneath her harsh tone, there was an unmistakable glint of concern, a sister's care cloaked in caution.
Helen's gaze dropped to the ground, her golden hair falling over her face as she absorbed her sister's warning. She knew there was truth in Clytemnestra's words, painful as they were. From her father's halls to the palace of every man who had ever laid eyes upon her, Helen had seen it—the feverish awe, the reverence that bordered on worship, but all of it fixed solely on her appearance. Her beauty had been her curse, a jewel that gleamed so brightly it blinded anyone from seeing her true self beneath it.
Their father, Tyndareus, loved her, of that she was sure, but Helen knew that his love had limits. His influence could only protect her for so long, and in his wisdom—or perhaps resignation—he likely had a plan to keep her safe from the cruel desires of men. But she feared his plan, knowing that it would almost certainly come at the cost of her happiness. Safety was often a cage.
"Be careful, sister," Helen whispered softly in the end, her voice laced with the vulnerability she seldom let slip through.
Clytemnestra's face softened as she reached out, pulling Helen into a gentle embrace. For a moment, she held her younger sister tightly, letting her arms speak the words her pride would not allow. Beneath her affection, however, lingered the sting of resentment, a simmering jealousy she loathed to admit. She hated herself for feeling it, for wanting to be free of Helen's side so that she could remember her as the innocent, sweet sister she adored, untainted by the jealousy her beauty evoked.
The two sisters lingered in their embrace until finally, Clytemnestra released Helen, her words etched into Helen's mind long after her footsteps faded.
°°°°°
When Helen opened her eyes, the morning light spilled gently across the ceiling of the royal chamber she had been granted, its luxurious grandeur almost oppressive in its silence. She looked around the vast room—gilded with elegance, as lonely as it was beautiful, much like the chamber she had shared with Menelaus. Though 'shared' was a generous word. She and Menelaus had hardly been able to share anything at all, let alone a bed. Before he could fully lay claim to his beautiful bride, news had arrived of his father's death, pulling him back to his homeland. And when he returned at last to collect Helen and finally claim her as his own, Paris of Troy had already spirited her away.
It was no wonder that Menelaus raged so furiously; he had been robbed of his prize, his claim on the woman deemed the most beautiful in the world, by none other than a foreign prince he had welcomed as a guest in his own halls.
But Helen's thoughts drifted back to her present captivity. She scarcely felt the difference between the bonds of marriage and her present state. She had been bound to Menelaus's palace as surely as she was now held in Troy. Paris's face was different, his voice gentler perhaps, but Helen saw through him easily enough. Beneath his charm, he was just another man who did not see her for who she truly was.
One night, he had dared to ask if he could share her bed, and she had refused him without hesitation. No, he was not special, not at all; he was as blinded as the others.
Slowly, Helen rose from her bed and walked to the large arched window, gazing out across the expanse of Troy that stretched below her. Dawn painted the rooftops in soft hues of pink and gold, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the weight pressing down on her heart. A week had passed since Lyrnessus had been destroyed, razed to the ground by Greek forces who rained down violence and fire upon the city, all because of her.
Guilt settled heavily on her shoulders each day, an invisible cloak she could not discard. Innocents had perished, lives had been shattered, and all of it traced back to her. And yet, what could she do? Each morning, she awoke to the same gilded room, the same bound fate, and the same bitter knowledge that she was powerless to undo the harm her beauty had wrought.
Helen's mind drifted once more to the remnants of her dream, replaying the distant memory like a faded, bittersweet echo. It was the same conversation with her elder sister, Clytemnestra—a talk that had taken place over a dozen years ago, yet still lingered in her subconscious, as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. She'd dreamed of that discussion again today, and the intensity with which it clung to her stirred something deep within.
Why had this memory surfaced so vividly? Was it merely a reminder of the painful truth she'd been forced to accept—that her life was never hers to control, not truly, not in a world where her beauty shackled her as firmly as any chain? Or was it something more, a whisper from the past telling her she would always be bound to others' desires, tethered to their ambitions and anger until the end?
"Sister…" Helen murmured softly to herself, her heart tightening with worry as her thoughts turned to Clytemnestra. She wondered what her sister's life had become. She had heard the rumors—their powerful, ruthless husband Agamemnon had sacrificed their own daughter, her young and innocent niece, all in the name of this endless war. All for the sake of a bloodstained cause that Helen herself was blamed for.
It was all because of her, once again.
"She probably hates me now," Helen muttered, her voice barely a whisper. A bitter smile pulled at her lips as she thought of her sister, bound to a man who had thrown their child's life away. She could hardly blame Clytemnestra if resentment had poisoned her heart.
And it wasn't just her sister. The weight of Troy's hatred clung to her like a shroud. Helen knew that the Trojans, too, despised her, cursing her name with every defeat, every loss. Prince Hector was relentless in his protests, urging Paris to send her back to Greece. Helen wished he would. The thought of returning had crossed her mind countless times, yet Paris held firm, refusing to yield, as if keeping her was a twisted form of honor or pride.
Among them all, Andromache, Hector's wife, bore the most potent loathing toward her. Helen could feel Andromache's hatred every time their eyes met, the silent reproach that told her she was the embodiment of every sorrow Troy had endured since the war began. And then there was Kassandra, the peculiar, tragic princess of Troy. She, unlike the others, did not seem to loathe Helen entirely; yet every day, she would visit her chambers and beg her to leave, her eyes haunted by visions no one else could see.
With a weary shake of her head, Helen drew herself from her thoughts, focusing on the simple act of preparing for the day. She dressed herself slowly, as though putting on armor, readying herself for yet another day of condemnation, another day of bearing the hatred she had no power to soothe.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC206: Nathan arrives at Troy!
With a weary shake of her head, Helen drew herself from her thoughts, focusing on the simple act of preparing for the day. She dressed herself slowly, as though putting on armor, readying herself for yet another day of condemnation, another day of bearing the hatred she had no power to soothe.
Once ready, she emerged from her chambers, her steps soft but purposeful. Immediately, she encountered the attendants assigned to her, moving in with practiced bows and murmured greetings. To others, they might seem loyal retainers, faithful to her needs and comfort. But Helen knew better; their duties lay far beyond servitude. Each was a pair of watchful eyes, a reminder that she, the "outsider" from Sparta, was considered a potential threat, forever under suspicion within the formidable walls of Troy.
Paris alone offered her sympathy, but she knew it was shallow, a love born of allure and desire rather than any true understanding. In his infatuation, he seemed blind to her isolation, caught in a fantasy that did not see the woman beyond the face.
Unperturbed by the scrutiny, Helen accepted it as her reality. Troy's halls, however grand and filled with the tapestries of their victories, could never replace Sparta in her heart. The city she had left—her true home—was now as distant as a forgotten dream. She had left behind family, friends, and a life etched deeply into Spartan soil, torn away from it under the bewitching haze of forces she could not control.
Drifting through the ornate corridors, Helen paused at a towering window. Outside, the courtyard was a flurry of preparation as soldiers and townsfolk alike braced for the looming onslaught of the Greek armies. News had recently come of the fall of Lyrnessus, the gateway to Troy a week ago; now, the Greeks were free to press forward without obstruction, a tide moving steadily toward these walls.
King Priam, with the wisdom of age and the burden of command, had ordered the evacuation of every town in Troy's path, refusing to ask his people to serve as sacrificial shields. Now, as the invading forces approached, they would find nothing but empty streets and shuttered homes until they reached the gates of Troy itself, walls said to be blessed by Apollo and Poseidon, standing tall and mighty against any enemy.
A figure at the far end of the corridor caught Helen's attention, interrupting her thoughts. Andromache, Hector's wife, moved gracefully toward her, her expression composed yet cool. Though she was indeed beautiful in her own right, Andromache's looks were no match for Helen's fabled allure—an undeniable reality that had only widened the chasm between them. From the moment Helen had arrived, Andromache's disdain had been palpable. She made no attempt to mask her belief that Helen had entrapped Paris with her beauty, her charm a deceptive spell that had led him into folly.
To Andromache, Helen was a usurper of peace and a destroyer of family bonds, the cause of the inevitable bloodshed now hanging over Troy like a dark cloud. But Helen could sense her disdain wasn't solely reserved for her; Paris, too, was scorned for his weakness and impulsivity, for falling prey to a charm he had neither the wisdom nor the maturity to resist.
"Helen," she called.
"Andromache..." Helen's voice was soft, almost hesitant, her gaze imploring.
"Do not address me so familiarly," Andromache's reply was sharp, her cold gaze unwavering as she fixed Helen with a look that was equal parts resentment and disdain.
"I apologize," Helen said, and there was sincerity in her tone, an apology that seemed to go deeper than words. Her eyes softened, shadows flickering there—a sadness that many might mistake for regret. But Andromache saw only galling hypocrisy in Helen's expression, a mockery of what the queen believed true penitence should look like.
That look. It was what infuriated Andromache the most about Helen. How dare she look apologetic after all she had brought upon them? After willingly coming here, after defying the bonds of marriage and nation to indulge in this selfish romance, did she have the audacity to appear sorrowful?
If she truly felt remorse, she could leave Troy, abandoning the city she had tainted with her presence. She didn't need Paris or King Priam's blessing; she could slip away in the dead of night. Andromache knew it would be challenging with the hundreds of guards patrolling the walls, but she doubted Helen had even tried.
Deep down, Andromache understood the truth Helen would never admit: leaving Troy would not undo the war, nor would it appease the Greeks. Agamemnon's thirst for power was unquenchable, and Menelaus's wrath toward Paris was an unyielding fire, fed by humiliation and wounded pride. If Helen's return could bring peace, perhaps she might have gone long ago. But it was a futile hope; war was inevitable, and both sides would march to death and ruin regardless of her presence.
Still, Helen remained, clinging to life in a way that Andromache couldn't fathom. Was it human instinct, a primal reluctance to face death, or was there something—someone—that kept her here? Perhaps she yearned for a final glimpse of her sister, to offer a last apology for Iphigenia's tragic fate.
With a dismissive sneer, Andromache spun on her heel, unwilling to spare Helen another word. It was routine now, these silent clashes and daily encounters in the corridors. Each encounter sharpened her resentment and reminded her of the unbridgeable chasm between them.
"Lady Andromache!"
A guard's voice shattered the tension, echoing through the corridor as he approached in haste, his steps urgent. Andromache turned to face him, her brow furrowing with worry at his expression.
"What is it?" she demanded, her voice edged with apprehension, bracing herself for whatever ill tidings might follow.
"The King has summoned both you and Lady Helen!" he announced, breathless. "It appears that one of the mercenaries we presumed lost has returned… and he has brought Lady Astynome back with him!"
"What?" Andromache's voice rose in astonishment, and for a moment, her steely composure broke. Forgetting all else, she blinked, astonished by the name. Lady Astynome, alive? The favorite priestess of Apollo, revered across Troy, had been presumed dead, a loss that had struck fear into the hearts of all who feared Apollo's wrath.
"She is truly alive?" Andromache asked, barely able to believe what she was hearing.
"Yes, alive and in perfect health!"
Without another word, Andromache turned and strode swiftly down the hall, her thoughts spinning. She felt relief, hope even, that Apollo's wrath might be stayed with the priestess's return. Helen followed in her wake, her steps slower, her expression unreadable. She could not share Andromache's relief, knowing that her own role in Troy's turmoil might forever overshadow any respite fate had temporarily granted them.
°°°°°°
Under the blazing midday sun, a single horse approached the formidable walls of Troy, carrying two travelers cloaked in dust from their long journey. Nathan sat tall and sturdy in the saddle, while Astynome leaned gently against his back, her body finally relaxing after days of relentless travel. Despite the tension between them, the ride had been peaceful, her faith finding unexpected solace in the strength she felt emanating from him. His back was firm, his muscles rippling with an unspoken assurance, making her feel safe in a way she had never expected.
When the towering walls of Troy loomed before them, Nathan spoke, his voice quiet yet firm. "We've arrived."
Astynome stirred, pulling herself upright as her eyes slowly opened. She lifted her gaze, her breath catching as she beheld the mighty walls before them, so familiar yet almost surreal after the horror she had endured. "At last... Lord Heiron," she murmured, gratitude evident in her eyes.
Her mind drifted back to the moment she had resigned herself to a darker fate, shackled within Agamemnon's tent, awaiting the terrible violation that seemed inevitable. But somehow, in the chaos of her despair, Nathan had appeared, his presence a miracle she hadn't dared to hope for. And now, against all odds, she stood once more before her home.
The massive gates of Troy groaned open slowly, revealing two figures standing at attention just inside. Prince Hector, his noble bearing casting an aura of steady calm, was there to greet them alongside Aeneas, his expression lit with a warmth that seemed to slice through the usual solemnity of the battlefield. As they entered, a broad smile broke across Aeneas's face, and he stepped forward eagerly, extending his arms in welcome.
"Heiron!" Aeneas called, his voice brimming with genuine excitement.
Nathan slid down from the horse and turned to help Astynome dismount, his hands gentle but firm. Once she stood beside him, both Aeneas and Hector gave her a respectful nod.
"Lady Astynome," they greeted, the reverence in their voices conveying the deep honor held for Apollo's favored priestess.
She nodded in return, her expression both humbled and grateful, her heart swelling at the familiarity of Troy's people who had not forgotten her. Aeneas moved closer to Nathan, his face brimming with gratitude and camaraderie.
"I can't believe it," Aeneas laughed, his arms pulling Nathan into a brotherly embrace, patting his back with a strength that betrayed his relief and admiration. "You really did it, my friend!"
Caught slightly off guard, Nathan hesitated but soon returned the embrace, feeling Aeneas's sincerity in every word. There was something familial in the way Aeneas regarded him—a bond made stronger by the subtle influence of Aphrodite, who had granted Nathan her blessing. Aeneas, a son of the goddess, seemed to feel this kinship deeply, and for a moment, Nathan felt as if he, too, belonged to Aeneas's family.
Hector then approached, his gaze steady and calm, extending his hand to Nathan. "I'll admit, I doubted you. But I owe you an apology and my thanks for bringing the priestess back safely."
Nathan met the prince's hand, their grip firm as they shook. "No need," Nathan replied simply, acknowledging Hector's humility with a respectful nod.
Once their introductions and greetings were complete, Hector gestured toward the heart of the city, where the palace loomed. "Come. My father, King Priam, is eager to meet you both. He awaits your presence inside."
Nathan and Astynome followed Hector and Aeneas, entering through Troy's gates.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC207: Nathan meets the royals of Troy!
Once their introductions and greetings were complete, Hector gestured toward the heart of the city, where the palace loomed. "Come. My father, King Priam, is eager to meet you both. He awaits your presence inside."
Nathan and Astynome followed closely behind Hector and Aeneas as they strode through the towering gates of Troy, feeling the weight of the city's gaze upon them. Immediately, murmurs rose from the people gathered around, their voices swelling with a mix of relief, reverence, and a rekindled hope.
"It is the priestess!"
"Lady Astynome has returned!"
"Apollo's chosen! She is safe!"
"Thank the gods! We are saved!"
Everywhere they walked, eyes turned to Astynome, and faces once drawn with worry began to soften, overcome with the sight of her. The people, once haunted by fear of Apollo's wrath at their inability to protect his priestess, now brimmed with a new resilience. To them, her return was a divine sign, an omen that Apollo was watching over them and that perhaps, in his favor, they would endure this relentless war. The streets, usually filled with the gloom of impending battle, now seemed to shimmer with newfound courage.
Astynome, with her calm grace, raised a slender hand to acknowledge their voices, her serene expression giving them silent encouragement. Her small smile, poised and gentle, was the same she always offered to the people, reminding them she would not falter in her role as Apollo's messenger. She felt the strain of expectations, yet knew she must embody the spirit of the god for the sake of Troy. The glint in her eyes was unwavering, though Nathan sensed the weight behind it.
"I pray that Apollo continues to guard you, Lady Astynome," Hector spoke up, his deep, steady voice a balm against the crowd's fervor. A warm smile softened his face, betraying his own relief at her presence. He searched her face, hoping for any sign that Apollo's wrath had subsided—a glimmer of divine approval that might ease the tension among them.
Astynome's gaze flickered for a moment as she pondered Hector's words. In truth, she had not heard Apollo's voice for some time, and the silence troubled her. "I do not believe Apollo is angry with the Trojans," she finally replied, her voice calm yet edged with a hint of unease. "His fury lies elsewhere… with the Greeks, and most of all, with Agamemnon."
At the mention of Agamemnon's name, a faint bitterness laced her tone. Memories of her father's betrayal by the Greek king flared within her, and Nathan sensed her struggle to maintain composure. Hector's expression darkened at this revelation.
"Agamemnon…" he muttered, his voice a low growl. "He is the heart of this war. If I find him on the battlefield, I swear, I will put an end to him."
Astynome offered a subtle nod, though her thoughts remained clouded by doubt. In her mind, the image of Agamemnon loomed large, draped in the blessings of powerful goddesses—Athena, the unyielding goddess of war and wisdom, and Hera, the fearsome queen of Olympus. He was a formidable opponent, his path shielded by divine favor that rendered him almost untouchable. And there was Achilles, too, a warrior near-invincible, and Odysseus, sly and blessed by Athena's cunning.
The power of these three loomed over her thoughts, casting an ominous shadow. So long as Agamemnon, Achilles, and Odysseus drew breath, the Greeks held an upper hand in this conflict, one forged and tempered by the hands of gods themselves.
But maybe this man...
Astynome's gaze drifted to Nathan, who walked alongside her, seemingly oblivious to the bustling surroundings. His demeanor remained calm, almost indifferent, as though his mind was already elsewhere, perhaps anticipating his fateful meeting with Apollo. In that moment, Astynome found herself watching him intently, wondering about the enigma of his existence.
There was something elusive about Nathan, a shadow of destiny that Astynome herself could not penetrate. As Apollo's priestess, she was no stranger to the future's mysteries, but Nathan defied them all. Here was someone, she felt, who might indeed withstand the goddesses' relentless hand over victory and fate, a man capable of breaking through the chains of predestined paths. Her heart stirred with a strange conviction; if anyone could challenge Athena's calculated might and Hera's imposing wrath, it was him. And perhaps, that was why he was her future now. Without him, she might never have escaped Agamemnon's grasp; he had saved her, and she felt a fierce loyalty to him as a result.
Their journey soon led them to the gates of the towering citadel, the heart of Troy. Hector and Aeneas took the lead, guiding them past soldiers and noblemen who paused, bowing reverently as they spotted Astynome. Her presence commanded a respect that seemed to ripple through the air itself, each bow a silent acknowledgment of her link to Apollo. Yet Astynome hardly reacted, her face calm, only giving gentle nods as they moved forward.
At the grand doors of the throne room, adorned with intricate carvings of Apollo—depictions of his stern gaze, his harp, his arrow drawn taut—Hector halted and knocked, his fist echoing through the stone corridor. After a brief pause, the guards stationed inside moved to open the towering doors, the wooden panels creaking as they swung inward, revealing the throne room in all its grandeur.
Nathan's gaze traveled ahead, taking in the royal hall of Troy with a critical eye. He couldn't help but compare it to the throne rooms of other lands he had encountered. He hoped King Priam of Troy would offer more than the empty pleasantries and hollow promises he had received from others, especially those from the Empire of Light.
A voice, deep and warm, broke through the quiet. "Son," the king greeted, his tone weary yet proud. Priam sat upon his high throne, his figure framed by the light pouring in from the high windows, his regal presence softened by age yet firm with authority. Hector and Aeneas immediately fell to one knee in respect before the aging king.
"You have done well," Priam said with a nod, a faint smile crossing his lips as his gaze turned to Astynome. "And Lady Astynome… it has been some time."
Astynome bowed her head respectfully. "Your Majesty, it is indeed an honor to be here once more," she replied, her voice steady yet touched with warmth.
Priam's gaze softened. "I am truly relieved to see you alive and unharmed, Astynome. Forgive me… for not intervening sooner to bring you and your father, Chryses, safely back to Troy." A shadow of guilt passed across his face. "And… where is Chryses?"
Astynome's expression became solemn, her eyes darkening as she spoke. "My father… is dead, Your Majesty. Killed by Agamemnon."
The weight of her words settled heavily in the room, and Priam's face shifted to one of remorse, lines deepening with grief and regret. For a brief moment, he seemed lost in thought, as though sifting through memories of his old friend.
"There is no need for guilt, Your Majesty," Astynome continued, her voice soft yet resolute. "My father lived as he wished, and he died according to his own will. I hold nothing but pride in the life he chose."
Though her tone was composed, her words held an edge of steel. She had been raised to endure loss, to carry herself with strength even when the world around her crumbled.
"You are a strong woman, Astynome," Priam said, his tone weighted with admiration. His gaze lingered for a moment before shifting to the man who had returned his beloved priestess—a stranger who had, by his own account, acted out of curiosity and duty.
"You must be Heiron, yes?" Priam's voice rang out, drawing every gaze in the room toward the silent, black-haired man standing near the throne's steps.
Nathan, dressed in dark armor with a stoic expression that revealed little of his thoughts, took a step forward. He didn't kneel as the others had; instead, he inclined his head respectfully, his posture both formal and indifferent. "Your Majesty."
Priam seemed unbothered by the lack of formality. Unlike most kings, he appreciated genuine warriors who didn't feel compelled to flatter him. Heiron, a mercenary by trade, was a free soul with no sworn allegiance to him. Priam liked the man's grounded demeanor.
"You have the gratitude of every Trojan for rescuing our priestess, Heiron," Priam declared.
"It was mere chance, Your Majesty. I crossed paths with her, and I brought her along," Nathan replied, his voice even, neither boastful nor dismissive.
Priam chuckled softly, sensing humility in Nathan's words. "Humble, I see."
"Humble, indeed, Your Majesty," Astynome interjected, a slight smile touching her lips. "Far too humble. Lord Heiron not only saved me but also managed to destroy a crucial Greek vessel."
A ripple of astonishment spread through the court, murmurs of shock and intrigue echoing around them.
"Is this true?" Priam asked, eyebrows raised, his interest deepening.
"Yes," Nathan replied calmly, unperturbed by the sudden attention. "The ship belonged to Agamemnon's fleet, loaded with weapons intended for the Greeks. After gathering what information I needed, I set it ablaze and escaped with Lady Astynome."
Priam's eyes sparkled with newfound respect. Queen Hecuba, seated beside him, leaned forward, her gaze equally appreciative. "A remarkable feat, Heiron. You have not only our gratitude but our admiration as well."
Hector, Aeneas, and Andromache, standing by the royal pair, exchanged impressed glances. It was clear Nathan's bravery had made an impact.
"I merely did what any able man would have done," Nathan said modestly. His words, though plain, carried a sincerity that seemed to resonate in the room. "Had Prince Hector or Lord Aeneas been there, they could have done far more."
To some, his humility might have seemed false, a well-placed tactic to win favor. But there was an undeniable sincerity in Nathan's voice and demeanor. He had no desire for fame or glory; he valued the alliance and goodwill of Troy. He was here, after all, for more than just the war.
As Priam and the others considered his words, two silent figures observed him with piercing intensity.
Helen of Troy and Princess Kassandra of Troy.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC208: Heiron's reward
As Priam and the others considered his words, two silent figures observed him with piercing intensity.
Helen of Troy and Princess Kassandra of Troy.
Nathan's gaze swept the gathered royals without lingering. He paid little attention to the mixture of fascination and wariness directed his way, sparing only fleeting glances at those who watched him. Yet, despite his disinterest, he couldn't deny the stunning beauty of Helen, who stood out even among her people. Her allure was transcendent, a beauty that seemed almost otherworldly, surpassing any he had ever encountered. Kassandra, on the other hand, had a different appeal, a mystique that marked her as an enigma—but her expression toward him was one of thinly veiled fear. Unlike Helen's curious, almost impassive stare, Kassandra looked at him as though he were a monster cloaked in darkness.
Kassandra's reaction wasn't just discomfort; it was genuine terror. As a seer, her gift for divination was known to surpass even that of Astynome, a talent treasured by Apollo himself. Yet, when she looked upon Nathan, she saw nothing but an impenetrable void. Her power, which allowed her to peer far into the threads of fate, met a black wall when she tried to read him, similar to the darkness she had foreseen clouding the outcome of the Trojan War. In her mind, he was an entity tied as closely to hope as to disaster, a force capable of bringing either salvation or ruin to Troy. And for now, only Kassandra and Astynome could comprehend just how unpredictable and potentially dangerous he was.
Helen's gaze, however, held none of Kassandra's dread. Her eyes lingered on Nathan with an almost childlike curiosity, observing him as she might any other intriguing figure who had entered her world. Her interest was casual, perhaps sparked by the fact that he had saved Astynome, but no more. She didn't appear to think deeply about him—at least not yet.
King Priam's voice broke through the tension, drawing all eyes to the throne. "You have done more than I could have ever hoped, Heiron. Ask anything you desire, and I shall grant it," Priam declared, his tone one of gratitude mingled with authority.
Nathan paused, pretending to consider his options, though his choice had already been made. He turned to face Priam, his eyes calm. "I would like to be granted a room within the castle," he stated, his voice even, though a ripple of surprise coursed through the court.
The silence was punctuated by an outraged shout. "What! How arrogant you are!" Paris, who had stood quietly until now, snapped with indignation. It was clear he had been waiting for any excuse to lash out, his resentment simmering beneath the surface. More than resentment, it looked more like jealousy as his family seemed to consider Heiron more than him.
Nathan noted Paris's reaction but paid him no mind, his face as impassive as stone as he awaited Priam's response.
Astynome stepped forward, her tone steady and serious as she spoke up on Nathan's behalf. "He is an ally, King Priam. He stands on our side," she affirmed, her gaze shifting briefly to Nathan, who met her eyes in silent acknowledgment. She had spoken when she didn't need to, and he felt a flicker of gratitude for her support.
Nathan's request for a room was not one born of vanity or luxury but of strategic necessity. From within the castle walls, he could keep a pulse on the city's defenses, access crucial information, and stay close to the heart of Troy's power. To have access to the flow of intelligence and news would be invaluable for his plans, allowing him to stay one step ahead in this unfolding conflict.
Priam glanced at Hector, his expression thoughtful. There was a moment of quiet deliberation as Hector studied Nathan, his gaze weighing him with careful scrutiny. At last, Aeneas broke into a small, knowing smile. Nathan observed the subtle exchange between the two warriors; Aeneas seemed to carry an unexpected trust in him, a rarity for someone known for his caution. Hector finally nodded at his father, offering silent approval.
King Priam's face softened into a thoughtful smile as he observed Astynome and Aeneas's evident trust in Nathan. Their endorsement seemed to tip the scales, reinforcing his growing belief that perhaps this man deserved a place of significance within their ranks.
"Granted, Heiron," Priam finally declared, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. "You will be given a room within our esteemed castle. However, it shall be a guest room on the lower floors. Access to the upper levels is restricted to the royal family."
The higher floors, reserved for Troy's royals, held an air of mystery and privilege that outsiders were rarely permitted to breach. Nathan, however, had no interest in reaching those heights; his goals lay in positioning himself close enough to hear whispers of war strategies, updates, and alliances. As long as he could converse with Hector or Aeneas and glean vital information, he was satisfied.
"Yes," Nathan replied simply, his tone devoid of any hint of disappointment.
"But surely that alone cannot suffice," Priam continued, casting an appraising look at Nathan. "Do you wish for gold or another token of our gratitude?"
Nathan shook his head. "This is more than enough," he replied firmly. Unlike the typical mercenary, he cared little for wealth or trinkets. The promise of knowledge and proximity to the heart of Troy's affairs was the true reward. However, noticing the slight bewilderment in Priam's eyes, he added, "I will consider it and ask later, Your Majesty."
Priam nodded, his smile warm and approving. "Very well, Heiron. I shall await your request."
The atmosphere shifted as Hector, his commanding voice rising above the quiet hum of the room, addressed the assembly. "Now, let us move to discuss matters of true importance."
At Hector's words, the nobles and attendants who were uninvolved in the affairs of war, including Queen Hecuba and many of the other court women, began to file out, their soft murmurs filling the hall as they exited. Helen followed, her graceful presence lingering in the room a moment longer than most. Paris, as if unwilling to be left behind, quickly joined her, casting a final glance back at those who remained. Hector watched his younger brother depart with a flash of irritation in his eyes. As a prince of Troy, Paris should have stayed; these discussions were essential to the kingdom's future, yet Paris seemed preoccupied with more personal matters.
Once the room had cleared, Hector turned to Nathan/ Aeneas and Sarpedon stepped forward to join the conversation. Aeneas's expression was calm and discerning, while Sarpedon, the son of Zeus himself, radiated a fierce intensity. Tall and lean, with sharp, calculating eyes, Sarpedon embodied the strength of Troy's army. He crossed his arms, nodding curtly at Nathan.
Nathan wasted no time. "The Greek forces are difficult to assess accurately," he began. "But their recent victory at Lyrnessus has swelled their confidence, bolstering their sense of inevitable triumph."
"As arrogant as ever, those Greeks," Sarpedon scoffed, his voice laced with disdain as he crossed his arms tightly.
"They believe the gods are firmly on their side," Aeneas added thoughtfully. "With Athena and Hera supporting them, they feel they're in favor with the heavens."
Sarpedon raised an eyebrow. "Yet we, too, have Apollo, Artemis, and Aphrodite lending us their strength," he countered, his tone carrying a hint of pride and defiance.
Aeneas looked skeptical, his expression clouded. "Yes," he admitted, "but is that truly enough? Their gods seem relentlessly determined to see the Greeks emerge victorious."
"It won't be enough," Nathan spoke up, his voice slicing through the tense silence, drawing every gaze in the room toward him. His focus was sharp, his mind racing with strategies; more than ever, he felt the urge to end this war swiftly, and he harbored a quiet desire for the Trojans to emerge victorious.
"We can still weaken them significantly," he continued, "by eliminating their most crucial leaders."
Hector's eyes gleamed as he nodded. "Agreed," he said.
"Agamemnon," Nathan began, listing the names that held the weight of Greek might, "commander of the Greek coalition. Menelaus, King of Sparta. Achilles, their greatest warrior. King Ajax the Great. Diomedes, the King of Argos. Odysseus, King of Ithaca. Heracles, and Jason, leader of the Argonauts." Each name rolled off his tongue, laced with a confidence that matched the determination in his eyes. He had gathered every detail he could during his brief time within the Greek camp, listening to stories and whispered strategies.
"If we strike down these names," Nathan explained, his voice resonating with resolve, "we will break the very spine of the Greek forces. Even if they outnumber us, they'll lack leadership, unity, and morale. In fact, if we kill Agamemnon alone, the other kings will turn on each other, vying for dominance. The Greeks would fall into a civil war within their own ranks."
Hector's smile broadened, a rare glimmer of hope lighting up his stern expression. Beside him, Aeneas and Sarpedon shared approving glances, their respect for Nathan's simple yet effective strategy. This man, unlike many who sought glory through grandiose gestures, had cut directly to the heart of what could bring them victory.
"Heiron is right," Hector announced to the room, his tone brimming with conviction. "If any of us encounter these men on the battlefield, our priority is to end them. Even the death of one of these figures will strike a blow deep into the heart of the Greek resolve."
"You can count on us, Hector," Aeneas said, nodding, his eyes alight with purpose. Sarpedon gave a curt nod in agreement.
"This is beginning to sound quite thrilling," came a vibrant voice from behind.
They turned to see Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, standing confidently with a fierce grin. Yet it wasn't Penthesilea alone who captured Nathan's attention; standing beside her was another beautiful woman.
Atalanta.
Nathan's gaze lingered on her, a surge of memories rushing back from his encounter with her in Colchis. Back then, she had stood among the Greeks, united with Jason, Heracles, and Orpheus in their quest for the Golden Fleece. A warrior of Artemis, fierce and untamed, Atalanta's skills in archery and her loyalty to her ideals had set her apart. But now, she was here, on the side of the Trojans, bound by her devotion to the Goddess Artemis.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC209: Penthesilea curious
Atalanta.
Nathan's gaze lingered on her, a surge of memories rushing back from his encounter with her in Colchis. Back then, she had stood among the Greeks, united with Jason, Heracles, and Orpheus in their quest for the Golden Fleece. A warrior of Artemis, fierce and untamed, Atalanta's skills in archery and her loyalty to her ideals had set her apart. But now, she was here, on the side of the Trojans, bound by her devotion to the Goddess Artemis.
"Atalanta, it's a pleasure to see you," Priam declared, rising from his throne with arms outstretched in a grand gesture of welcome. His voice carried a note of genuine warmth, and the subtle creases around his eyes softened as he beheld her with respect.
Atalanta was a name that carried weight and inspired awe across kingdoms. As one of Artemis's devoted followers, she was known far and wide as one of the fiercest warriors the Achaean continent had ever seen. Raised and molded by Artemis's own hand, her skills were honed to perfection through arduous training and the goddess's unyielding discipline. Artemis seldom allowed her chosen disciples to stray from her side, let alone to travel to foreign realms; so when Atalanta arrived alongside Jason and the Argonauts, it had been a momentous occasion. The goddess deemed the journey an invaluable experience for her beloved warrior, hoping it would teach Atalanta more of the world beyond Artemis's own domain. And indeed, the quest had proven as eventful as it was perilous.
Though their mission to retrieve the Golden Fleece ended in failure due to an unexpected intruder, the journey itself left its indelible mark. They had ventured through dangerous waters, encountering monstrous foes and forces of nature beyond human comprehension. Few would forget the day they escaped the lethal clutches of Scylla and Charybdis, the divine terrors of the deep seas, whose wrath left many shaken but fiercely bonded. They clashed with warriors from distant lands, creatures of legend, and saw wonders that would haunt their memories for lifetimes.
Now, Atalanta stood before them once again, ready for another challenge—but this time, it was different. Artemis herself had taken a vested interest in the Trojan cause, choosing to stand with the kingdom she deemed worthy of her protection. Although Artemis hadn't demanded Atalanta join her, she was pleased her disciple chose to do so of her own volition. And so, with loyalty and purpose in her stride, Atalanta had come to Troy, prepared to fight for the goddess's honor.
Nathan's gaze flickered her way briefly, before he looked away, his expression inscrutable.
"Yes, indeed, it is reassuring to have one of Artemis's strongest disciples among us," Hector said, his tone laced with a hint of reverence. His eyes shone with relief, for he knew well the power and resilience Atalanta could bring to their side. Nearby, Aeneas and Sarpedon exchanged nods, their faces mirroring Hector's sentiment; each knew the value of her presence, and they took solace in her strength.
Penthesilea, the Amazon queen, cast her sharp gaze across the room, and her eyes landed on another familiar face. "Oh, isn't that Heiron?" Her lips curved into a smirk, her tone a blend of surprise and admiration. "So you've returned... and alive on top of that? I am quite impressed."
Her admission wasn't lightly given; Penthesilea had not anticipated Heiron's survival, let alone his loyalty. She had once dismissed him as a mere mercenary of little note, someone unworthy of her regard. But now, seeing him here, unscathed and resolute, she wondered if she had misjudged him entirely.
"Not only did he stay true to our cause, but he aided us in ways few would have dared," Aeneas interjected, his voice firm as he looked at Penthesilea. The Amazon queen turned her head slightly, catching his steady gaze. Aeneas's reminder was gentle but clear; back then, she had doubted Heiron's loyalty, and he wanted her to remember the debt they now owed him.
"Yes, yes… my own misjudgment. I admit it," Penthesilea finally acknowledged with a slight incline of her head. "I hope you don't hold a grudge over it, Heiron," Penthesilea said, her lips curving into a challenging grin, her sharp eyes studying him with newfound respect. The Amazon queen's tone carried a trace of playfulness, yet she genuinely sought his answer, wondering if her initial dismissal had left any bitterness.
Heiron—or rather, Nathan, who wore Heiron's guise flawlessly—returned her gaze with calm assurance. "Not at all. I may be a mercenary, but I am steadfast in my loyalty to my contract," he replied, his voice carrying the tone of a warrior who valued his word above all. "Once I've accepted payment, I'm bound to fight for that cause to the end. No matter how much more the Greeks offer, my place is with the Trojans."
Nathan's response struck just the right chord, a speech fitting for a seasoned mercenary who lived by honor, and it resonated deeply with those present. Priam, who stood nearby, watched him with an approving nod, a glint of admiration warming the King's normally stern expression. The old monarch was already deciding that, should they survive this war, he would call upon Heiron again if future battles arose. There was merit in a mercenary who could be trusted despite the tempting gold of enemies.
Penthesilea, too, was struck. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her sharp gaze softening with a hint of intrigue. For the first time, she was truly interested in Heiron, a man she had so easily overlooked before. There was a strength and conviction in his words she hadn't expected, and it made her curious about the depths of this warrior she had once labeled as just another hired blade.
Hector's voice brought them back to the pressing matter at hand. "Your timing couldn't be better. We were just discussing the Greek armies," he said, his tone more serious as he refocused the room's attention.
"Indeed," Atalanta chimed in, nodding as she cast a brief, appreciative glance at Nathan. "We need to eliminate their leaders, just as Heiron wisely suggested."
"True enough," Aeneas agreed, though his expression remained pensive. "But each of those leaders is a formidable warrior. They won't fall easily."
"They are strong, yes," Hector acknowledged, his face hard with determination. "But we'll have ample opportunity to study them in battle. Observing them in the thick of the fight, noting each weakness—those are the moments we must seize. Only then will we share our findings and devise a coordinated strike to take them down when the time is right."
Nathan nodded subtly, his mind already churning over Hector's words. While he agreed with the strategy, his thoughts kept returning to one man: Achilles. No other warrior struck as much seriousness into his heart as the son of Thetis, a warrior of near-legendary strength and skill. Achilles wasn't merely a soldier; he was a force of nature, a living tempest born to dominate the battlefield. There was a reason tales of his prowess left warriors across the lands in awe.
The fact that Achilles's mother had dipped him in the River in hell as an infant, rendering him nearly invulnerable to any mortal blow, made him an even greater threat. Only his heel, untouched by those mystical waters, remained vulnerable—a detail almost too fragile to believe. And while tales spoke of Paris's fateful arrow piercing that single flaw, Nathan couldn't shake the sense that in this world, that simple trick would not be enough. This was a world with magic after all.
No, Achilles would not fall that easily. Nathan could feel it in his bones.
He would have to again transfer all his Luck to strength to have a chance just like he did to fight a God of Light in the village of Uteska.
But it wasn't as if Nathan was their only hope. He cast a sidelong glance at Hector, the crown prince of Troy. Hector, known throughout the lands as the finest Trojan warrior, wasn't someone to be underestimated. Perhaps Hector alone had the potential to challenge the nearly invincible Achilles. Though, to truly stand toe-to-toe with the demigod, even he might need the blessings of the gods themselves.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the tension. "Leave Achilles to me." It wasn't Hector who spoke, but Penthesilea, her tone firm. The Amazon queen's expression was fierce, her gaze steady as she looked around the room, leaving no doubt about the seriousness of her words.
Sarpedon, one of the mightiest Lycian warriors, eyed her with cautious concern. "Penthesilea, I know you're strong—any fool can see that—but Achilles is on another level entirely," he said.
She scoffed, a defiant smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm well aware of who he is, and that's precisely why I intend to face him," she replied. "I'm not just any warrior—I am the queen of the Amazons, and we were born to hunt the monsters that others fear to face. Achilles is exactly the kind of opponent I came here to challenge."
Before a full debate could ignite, Hector raised a hand, his voice ringing with calm authority. "We'll settle this when the time comes. For now, we must focus on preparation," he interjected. "The Greeks will be at our gates within the week, and there's much to be done if we hope to meet them in full force."
Despite his composed words, Hector knew the dangers Achilles posed and doubted Penthesilea's chances against the legendary warrior. But he refrained from voicing his doubts, knowing it would only fuel her resolve further.
With Hector's firm command, the gathered warriors nodded and began to take their leave, dispersing to prepare for the battles ahead.
Nathan, too, rose from his seat, following a maid assigned to escort him to his new room inside the castle's comfort.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC210: Nathan meets God Apollo
After sharing a few comments about the Greeks, Nathan was guided to a vast, opulent chamber that exuded grandeur at every corner. The polished marble floors glinted in the torchlight, and intricate tapestries depicting Trojan victories hung from walls gilded with gold leaf. Despite his casual remarks earlier, he was mildly astonished that none of his companions had pressed him for more details. He hadn't thought his comments were especially insightful, yet they seemed to have struck a chord. He chalked it up to the strange workings of his outrageous luck, a stat he had learned to accept but still found mystifying.
As he stepped into his room, Nathan began removing his armor, piece by piece, feeling the weight of the past week lifting off him as he did. His mind drifted to the relentless vigilance he had maintained every night, keeping watch in the shadows while the others slept. Agamemnon was a man known for his obsessions, and Nathan knew it was entirely within his character to dispatch men to reclaim Astynome. This was why he had gone without sleep, ensuring that they would not be ambushed. Astynome herself had been in no state to act as a sentry; she was still haunted by her recent trauma and had narrowly escaped Agamemnon's possessive grip. The journey had taken its toll on them both, but Nathan had endured, driven by a sense of purpose he couldn't quite define.
Thankfully, their week had passed without incident. But as the days had gone by, he couldn't help but notice how close Astynome had grown to him. He sensed a shift, a silent reliance that had blossomed between them. He understood her clinging nature was born from gratitude mixed with the pain of her recent losses. In saving her from a grim fate, he had unwittingly become her anchor. And though Nathan wasn't entirely comfortable with it, he couldn't deny that her presence had started to mean something to him as well. But what that "something" was, he chose not to dwell on.
Once he had stripped off his armor and clothing, he moved toward the stone basin in the corner of the room, filling it with warm water. As he sank into the bath, the heat seeped into his weary muscles, washing away the grime and exhaustion accumulated over the long days of horseback travel. He closed his eyes and let the water envelop him, the steady warmth easing the constant tension in his body. For a moment, he could almost forget the unyielding ache that gnawed at his core.
After a long soak, Nathan stepped out and reached for a fresh set of clothes neatly laid out on a carved wooden bench. The fabrics were finely woven and unmistakably Trojan in design, yet they fit him surprisingly well, almost as though the maids had anticipated his measurements. As he dressed, he caught sight of his reflection in the polished silver mirror hanging nearby. He stared at his arms, which were slowly darkening, the skin taking on an eerie, inky hue.
"I'm nearing the end," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
This was the cost he had agreed to pay nine months ago, the price of defying a goddess and tampering with powers that no human from his world should have even glimpsed. The darkness creeping up his arms was a constant reminder of that fateful choice, a slow curse spreading through him. His mortal body wasn't meant to bear such power, and it rebelled against it with searing pain. Though he kept his face composed and unyielding, an agony burned within him that he had learned to hide from others. This suffering had become his silent burden, one that no one else could ever understand.
Just as Nathan's thoughts drifted into the dark reflection of his choices, a sudden shift rippled through his senses. His vision blurred, and the room seemed to melt away around him. The lavish Trojan chamber, with its ornate tapestries and marble floors, vanished as if it had never been. The sounds of Troy's distant bustle faded, replaced by an ethereal silence.
When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in an endless expanse bathed in a soft, golden light. A smirk teased the corner of his lips—a smirk he quickly stifled as he turned to face the presence he knew had summoned him here.
"God Apollo," Nathan addressed.
Before him stood a figure who embodied the very essence of beauty and grace. Apollo, god of light, music, and prophecy, radiated an almost tangible aura of divine splendor. Tall and lean, with sun-gold hair that caught the light like threads of fire, his striking features formed the epitome of male beauty. His alabaster robe fell in effortless folds, edged with threads of silver, a vision of serene but formidable power.
"Heiron," Apollo spoke, his voice smooth and warm as it reverberated through the golden silence. "I have long wished for this conversation."
Nathan inclined his head slightly. "The feeling is mutual, Apollo."
Apollo's gaze softened, though it carried the weight of something unspoken. "Before we begin, let me first thank you. Saving Astynome… it means more to me than you know."
Nathan studied Apollo carefully. "You could have intervened yourself, yet you didn't. Couldn't, rather?" His tone was respectful but edged with curiosity.
Apollo nodded, his expression briefly clouded with something akin to regret. "As a god, I am bound by laws—even more so now, with war looming on the horizon. Stepping in too overtly could bring harsh judgment upon me and leave Troy vulnerable."
In that moment, Nathan felt a trace of understanding, though his personal code would always place his own above all else. It was now clearer why Apollo had watched from afar, choosing Troy's protection over his priestess's safety. If Nathan had known Astynome was Apollo's own daughter, his judgment might have softened further—but Nathan's loyalty was steadfastly to his own.
Apollo's eyes flashed, a trace of admiration crossing his face. "I saw you at Lyrnessus," he said, his tone carrying genuine respect. "You fought bravely against that Hero of the Empire of Light. Her strength was formidable, and yet you bested not only her but also her high-ranking spirit. It was… impressive."
Nathan shrugged slightly, hiding any sign of satisfaction. "The Greeks and their allies are fond of their pride. They assume victory is a birthright. I merely used that against them."
It was a calculated response, Nathan concealing the truth of his identity, unsure of how much trust he could afford to place in this god. Apollo, after all, was still a god, and Nathan had learned that most deities were unpredictable at best and treacherous at worst. Only a few had proven themselves worthy of his trust—Khione, Amaterasu, and, curiously, Aphrodite, though her motivations remained elusive.
Apollo's laughter echoed around them, resonant and carefree, like a warm melody woven from sunlight itself. He seemed genuinely pleased, his eyes bright with amusement as he regarded Nathan. This mortal's confidence, unbending even in the face of gods, intrigued him. Here was a human who, unlike others, possessed the strength to back his arrogance—a rare find, indeed. Apollo could already sense that he had stumbled upon a true diamond, unpolished yet dazzling in its raw potential.
"True enough," Apollo replied, his tone casual but carrying a subtle undercurrent of anticipation. "The Greeks are backed by none other than Hera and Athena. Their arrogance stems not just from their victories but from knowing two of the most powerful goddesses stand behind them. And that pride, that reckless confidence… it will be their downfall."
Nathan's gaze sharpened. "Hera and Athena… Are they the only ones among the gods supporting the Greeks?" His voice was steady, unphased by the weight of the names, but within, he was calculating the depth of the threat. Hera and Athena were formidable—two of the strongest forces in Olympus, and both names Khione had warned him to be wary of.
Apollo's smile was faint, a glint of pride and certainty mingling in his expression. "For now, yes. They are the only ones bound to the Greeks' cause, the only ones who will directly involve themselves in the battle. But with those two, Troy is already faced with Olympus's finest. Their reach alone is vast."
Nathan gave a curt nod, the words settling heavily. Yet he noticed the faintest flicker in Apollo's gaze, the quiet satisfaction that lingered as he watched Nathan's reactions. Apollo wanted him invested in this war, wanted him to be more than a bystander. This god, it seemed, hoped Nathan would lend his strength to Troy's side, aiding Hector and Aeneas in their struggle against the Greek forces.
A thoughtful silence settled between them before Apollo asked the question that had been hovering unspoken in the air.
"You don't like the Greeks, do you?" Apollo's voice was even, but his gaze was intent. "Am I wrong to think you don't want them to win?"
Nathan's mind flickered through memories of his recent encounters. Only two weeks prior, when Aphrodite had approached him about taking part in this war, he'd had no stake in its outcome. Whether the Greeks won or the Trojans prevailed, he hadn't cared at all. He would've preferred to watch it all unfold from a distance, indifferent to the fates of men and cities he held no attachment to.
But… things had changed. Nathan's gaze grew darker, and he closed his eyes, flashes of memory searing through his mind.
He saw Ajax, his brutish grin and his bold hand laid upon Aisha, daring to touch what was Nathan's.
Agamemnon's smug, loathsome face, the very sight of which stirred an anger deep within him.
At least for Astynome's father whom Nathan respected for having sacrificed his life for his daughter.
Also maybe for Astynome as well since she was a good woman. He had traveled a week with her after all, affection was bound to happen.
Also Nathan had seen too many women, captives, torn from their homes, crying out for help within the Greek camps.
The Trojans, however, were different. In all his time with them, Nathan had seen no such horrors committed by their hands. They defended, they protected—but they did not enslave or brutalize.
Nathan opened his eyes finally.
"I want the Greeks to lose in the most humiliating and painful way possible."
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